


Who's a Fucking Pretty Boy, Then?

by Fire_Bear



Series: Pets-R-Us [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: And fowl language, Dinner Party, Foul Language, M/M, Parrot, Pirates, Steampunk, Victorian, Victorian dinner party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where steam-powered inventions have pushed humans forward in technological advances in the latter part of the 19th Century, Arthur Kirkland is attempting to put on a dinner party. Hopefully his foul-mouthed parrot won't spoil it or out him as an ex-pirate...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's a Fucking Pretty Boy, Then?

It was a quiet night – or as quiet as it could get in London, at any rate. The rattle of carriages and the odd steam-powered cars passing by filtered through the streets. Above the rooftops, the RAF's ships rumbled, the huge wooden frames creaking in the night. Everyone on the ground was impressed by them, saying they felt safe at night: Arthur could only scoff. They were little more than Air Boats, compared to some of the ships he had seen in the sky.

Taking out a set of keys, Arthur unlocked the front door to his town house. Shuffling in, he closed and locked the door behind him before removing his hat and cloak. Darkness pressed on him, for his servants had left for the night. Slipping his cane into the umbrella stand, he wandered through into the parlour for a nightcap.

In the doorway, he paused to light a candle, the equipment laid out ready for him on a cabinet nearby. With the lone source of light sending flickering shadows across the room, he crossed to the drinks cabinet. It was kept fully stocked with all sorts of drinks – though he kept the rum hidden so his staff were unaware of it. As he moved, the candle lit up the bird cage which was near the window. Arthur paused for a moment, staring at his beloved Eclectus parrot, Polly, who stared back. She was still the bright red and blue he had grown to love over the years – but she was as silent as she had been for the weeks Arthur had been in London. He sighed and turned from her, setting the candle on the cabinet.

Pulling out a bottle of rum, he fetched a glass and filled it up. The alcohol was in celebration of finally having attracted enough people to have a decent-sized dinner party. Once he had buttered the guests up, he would have contacts in a variety of businesses which would help him to start his own – when he had figured out exactly what that would be. Pushing aside his doubts, he sighed in contentment and took a sip of his rum. Once he had swallowed, he set the glass down so he could put the decanter back.

"Well, well," said a voice from the shadows. Arthur barely reacted, merely reaching up to loosen his cravat, just in case. "Look at what the wealthy Monsieur Smith has got for himself. A _drinks cabinet_?"

"What are you doing here, Bonnefoy? Shouldn't you be in the Country of Frogs?"

" _L'amour_ ," hissed Bonnefoy, the annoyance clear.

A hissing laugh erupted from near the Frenchman. "Don't let him get to you, Fran. He's just annoyed we managed to break in and he didn't notice – because he's got all lazy now he's in the money."

At that, Arthur frowned and took a fortifying drink before turning to stare into the darkness. "Beilschmidt?" he said. "What the devil are you doing here, too?"

"Ooh!" Beilschmidt responded. He laughed, movement catching Arthur's eye. Now he knew where the Prussian bastard was... "Listen to that. 'What the devil?'" His put on an English accent made Arthur wince. "He's gone all fancy!" Beilschmidt began to cackle.

"We're not going to convince him like this..." said a third voice. Carriedo.

"Really, now, why are all three of you here?" Arthur demanded. "Did you not have enough gold to fulfil your fantasies? I gave you more than was necessary. Especially since you should have been thanking me for saving you in the first place."

At that, Francis finally stepped forward. He was wearing what Arthur usually saw him in, always in a variety of colours. Shirt (this one lilac), waistcoat, tight trousers, well made boots. His precious pocket watch chain glinted in the candlelight as did the glass in the flight goggles around his neck. A belt fitted snugly around his hips, a sword and pistol dangling from it. From what Arthur could make out, he was frowning at the Englishman.

"We decided to travel together, Capitaine. However... we found that it is hard to travel with someone who has been branded."

Arthur grimaced as he remembered the mark he hadn't saved Antonio from. However... "That is none of my business, now. And I am not a captain any longer."

"So that's it?" demanded Gilbert, stepping forward, too. Arthur frowned at the outfit as he recognised it. The Prussian was wearing an old, white shirt which was now stained black from coal dust. His belt contained tools instead of weapons – spanners and screwdrivers and ratchets. He was scowling. "You've settled, have you?"

"Yes," Arthur insisted. "I am happy with my life here."

"You do not want to 'find adventure'?" asked Antonio, stepping forward as well. His black shirt and trousers made him blend in with the darkness rather well, only the golden crucifix around his neck making him distinct from the shadows. His belt carried a pistol but no cutlass – his axe, no doubt, was hidden away where the three were staying.

"I can find adventure in the everyday."

Gilbert snorted. "Ja. Of course."

"Look, Capitaine," sighed Francis. "We do not want to retire from piracy. There are plenty of things to discover in the world and a lot of it will get the blood pumping. Fights and brawls, cunning plots, foiling the British Empire's attempts to catch us... Do you really not want that, cher?"

"Don't call me that," Arthur growled, slipping into his natural accent, a much rougher one than he had been affecting since he'd bought the house. He paused and cleared his throat, recovering quickly. "I do not want to. The Royal Air Force and the Navy are becoming too much of a constant thorn in the side. You know this. I do not want to- Look, I made my decision and everyone was happy with it-"

"At the time," Antonio piped up.

"What do you mean?"

"We have gathered the crew. We do not want to sit and do nothing. Everyone wishes to go back into the air." Antonio smiled at Arthur, something he didn't see very often and it caused Arthur to freeze, confused at the apparent affection. "We would like you as capitán again."

"I sold the ship, remember? Left it with that Carlos in Cuba. Are you wasting your-?"

"We bought it back," Francis interrupted him. "He owed Tonio a favour so we had him pay up, as it were."

Arthur stared at them. Were they really serious? "The reason we hung up our pirate hats was because of the increase of the RAF's presence. You all agreed it was for the best."

Gilbert shrugged. "That was just because you felt guilty for the death of some of the men, ja? We were all thinking of the rest but... some of them are willing to live and die by our pirate code, Kapitän."

"Stop that," growled Arthur, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "I am not your captain. This life I have built for myself... I am enjoying it."

"And how long will that last?" asked Francis, raising an eyebrow.

Growling, Arthur gulped down some more rum. "It will last."

"Really? You have kept Polly. She is a smart yet mischievous bird – what will happen if she lets something slip?"

"She will not," Arthur insisted.

"And that is not taking into account your wanted pictures in the newspapers, chéri. Will the identity of Oliver Smith stand up under scrutiny?"

Downing the rest of his rum, Arthur twisted to slam his glass on a nearby table. "Leave me alone! I will do as a wish and you can do as you will. Go."

The three troublemakers glanced at each other. Seemingly, they decided to give it one last try. "Amigo-"

" _No_ , Antonio. Leave me alone."

Francis sighed. "Oui, oui. We will go. Mais... If you change your mind in the next two weeks, we are docked at the main port in the Isle of Man."

With that, they melted into the shadows. Arthur listened intently, waiting to make sure they had really gone, and heard the dull thud of a window or door closing. Letting out a breath of relief, he turned back to his drinks cabinet and, despite only intending on a single nightcap, poured himself another full glass of rum.

* * *

A few days later, Arthur's guests were being shown into the dining room by one of his few servants. He smiled and greeted them all, shaking hands with every man and kissing the delicate hands of giggling girls. Most of the guests were businessmen and their wives and daughters. A few were minor politicians and one was a journalist and his photographer, a young woman whom Arthur suspected was employed because the young man wanted very much to get into her skirts.

Lastly, he had invited the American Ambassador. That had been mostly due to social convention, considering he had been within a circle of men he had personally invited. So as not to appear rude, he had extended the invitation to include Mr. Jones. However, he had not expected him to bring his tall, handsome son.

"Good evening, Mister Smith," said Ambassador Jones, shaking Arthur's hand. "It's a real pleasure to be here."

"It is a pleasure to have you, Ambassador," Arthur replied. Then he glanced at the blond standing beside the older man. The stranger looked bored, staring around the room. Behind him, Arthur heard someone giggle and he briefly wondered whether the young man had caught their attention.

"Ah, yes," said the Ambassador. "This is my son, Alfred. I'm teaching him the ropes before he takes over in the next year or two."

Interestingly, Arthur noticed the quick glare the lad shot at his father before he turned a blinding smile on the Englishman. "Hello there!" he exclaimed, shaking Arthur's hand vigorously. Arthur used the time to survey him: a little chubby in the cheeks (his parents were rich, then); golden hair; eyes like the clear sky hidden behind a pair of spectacles; clean-shaven; muscles (manual labour?); strong grip. _He would have been a good addition to my crew._ The thought, unbidden, almost caused Arthur to growl and he abruptly dropped Alfred's hand.

"Pleased to meet you," he said hastily, seeing Alfred's surprise.

"Pleasure's all mine, sir. Mister Smith. Heh." Alfred grimaced and glanced at his father. "So, uh..." Once again, he looked to his father for guidance.

The Ambassador sighed. "I apologise. My estate in America is rather secluded and Alfred has not spoken to people his age often."

"Ah?" said Arthur, chuckling a little. "That is perfectly fine. Now, if you will excuse me, I must ask the servants to rearrange the table to fit Master Jones."

Grimacing, the Ambassador nodded. "Yes. I apologise once again. Alfred arrived earlier than expected."

"Not a problem." Nodding to them, Arthur hurried off and instructed the servants as to his wishes. It only took a few moments but, soon, everyone was seated. Arthur was at the head of the table with a Lord on his right and the Ambassador on his left. Alfred had been sat beside his father with one of the giggling girls beside him.

Once everyone had settled and the soup had been brought out, the conversation started. "Mister Smith," said the Lord. "I understand you have quite a bit of money tucked away?"

"Indeed I do," Arthur responded, tentatively.

"What is it that you plan on doing with it?"

"I have yet to finalise a few details and do not wish to discuss it at the moment. Perhaps once I have started to organise myself. Do you have any advice for me, my Lord?"

"If you haven't decided yet, then farming is always a good bet," the lord explained, sounding rather eager. "That is how I made _my_ money. I have an estate in the countryside. Now, within that estate, I have... let me see now..."

Arthur could feel his interest waning, grasping at the words to attempt to show an interest if questioned later. But 'drainage' and 'sheep' and 'tenants' sounded terribly boring and he had wanted something he could be hands on with. Unbidden, memories of rowdy conversations about places he had been and the daring deeds he had done surfaced and he forced them back down.

"We don't have that," said a voice, breaking through Arthur's boredom. He snapped his attention to the speaker and found Alfred smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. We have cattle, not sheep. And chickens."

"Do you have tenants?" Arthur found himself asking.

"Nope."

"I see."

The Ambassador cleared his throat. "America has lots of wide, open spaces."

"So I have heard," Arthur said, hiding a smirk behind his wine glass. Alfred seemed to see it and bristled, opening his mouth to speak.

"Have you put any thought," said the Lord's wife from next to him, "on settling down, Mister Smith?"

This time, Arthur had to hide a grimace. He knew the two of them had a daughter who they had left in the care of her governess for the night. If they were going to bring her up, he would have to change the subject. "I do not wish to think on that just yet," Arthur assured them. "As I said, setting up a business which will make enough to live comfortably is my first problem to tackle."

"Perhaps the right woman will not be a problem to find," the Lady said, smiling at Arthur. He blinked in surprise when he noticed it was rather flirtatious and glanced at the Lord. Now that he looked, he realised that the Lord had a good few years on his wife. Arthur tried his best to smile kindly at the woman.

"Women are always hard to find," said Alfred, suddenly. "There are never any decent ones. They are usually-"

" _Alfred_ ," said his father, not looking up from his soup.

"Regardless," Arthur interjected, feeling that he should stick up for the lad, "he is correct, in a way. It is hard to find love when people tend to marry for money and status."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed that he had managed to offend the woman. He had to resist the urge to grin. Blast it all, this lifestyle was much harder than he had thought. And it didn't help that he managed to catch Alfred's eye and found that the American was just as amused as he was.

"That _is_ what I meant," Alfred clearly lied. "Yet, I suppose, this is the way things are."

"Indeed," Arthur answered. "It is a shame, yes?"

"Yes."

They stared at each other for a moment before one of the other noblemen – was he a lord or duke; Arthur could not recall – cleared his throat. "You say that you wish to start a business, Mister Smith? In the current climate?"

Arthur frowned, not catching onto what the man meant. "Yes? Is there a problem with that?"

"Well, how are you going to ship anything outside of the country? What with all these pirates around..."

"Ah, yes," agreed the first Lord. "These pirates are becoming quite the nuisance."

At the head of the table, Arthur let the resulting conversation wash over him, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Everything here was so careful and calculated and he was beginning to long for the loud, crude, drunken conversations he and his men had had. Arthur was starting to wish he'd never considered the damned RAF a threat.

"The RAF will protect everyone?" asked someone and Arthur's gaze lifted. Alfred was the speaker once again and he seemed to be frowning at the second lord, almost scowling. "Their ships are little more than boats."

"They are faster and more agile than the pirates' ships," said the first man. The others listening in nodded.

"Pirates are resilient. They will not be able to wipe all of them out."

To say that Arthur was impressed was an understatement. Most of the men and women at the table were angry with the piracy – it stopped their money coming and going and prevented their rich spoils from reaching their greedy wives and spoilt daughters. To openly support the pirates was a strange thing to do at any respectable dinner table. What the others thought of Alfred, Arthur didn't know and didn't, frankly, care. He wanted to applaud the American but he settled for sending a quick, sly smile in his direction.

"Well, pirates are the embodiment of evil-" began the Lady but Alfred rudely cut her off.

"Not all pirates are so ba-"

" _Alfred_ ," his father hissed, glaring at him. The lad frowned back at him.

Before he could defend his statements, the electric lights flickered overhead and everyone stared upwards, the women sending shrill screams into the air. They flickered a few more times before brightening and staying on. Everyone looked to Arthur who let out a put-upon sigh and shook his head. "It appears the servants are slacking," he said, mainly to appease his guests. Inwardly, he worried about the small boy who had to shovel the coal into the giant generator attached to the house. Hopefully nothing horrid had happened to him.

Looking around the guests, he spotted all of them chuckling at his comment, several of them breaking off to converse about their own troublesome servants. Alfred, meanwhile, had leapt to his feet – whether because of the shock of the lights almost turning off or in outrage, Arthur couldn't tell. Whatever the reason, he was standing now and seemed to have no desire to sit back down.

His father seemed irritated with his behaviour. "Sit down, Alfred. There is nothing to worry about."

"But, fa-"

" _Sit_ ," the Ambassador barked and Alfred instantly dropped back down. There was a short silence before the older American chuckled. "I hope this is not making the thought of having children undesirable to anyone."

"Not at all," said the second lord. "It looks as thought you have him well trained."

The people around Arthur and Alfred giggled. Before Alfred could snap at them, Arthur spoke up. "Dogs can be well trained but will most likely bite if treated badly."

Everyone sobered. The clock on the mantelpiece could be heard in the ensuing silence. Then the journalist spoke up. "So you are a dog person, Mister Smith?"

"Mm, not particularly," Arthur answered.

"Ah, a cat person?" said the photographer, smiling at Arthur.

"I much prefer parrots, to be honest."

"Parrots, Mister Smith?"

"Yes." Arthur nodded to a servant hovering at the edge of the room and he scurried forward to clear away the empty bowls. "I own one at the moment."

"Really?" The photographer clapped her hands together in glee. "May we see it?"

That caused Arthur to pause. He was sure none of them had recognised him but would seeing him with Polly cause them to link Oliver Smith with the famed Arthur Kirkland? Would they see the notorious pirate often portrayed with his parrot in his wanted posters? Then again, if they hadn't noticed by now, he was fairly sure they wouldn't realise the truth. Especially since Polly wasn't talking and likely wouldn't so much as squawk.

Hopefully.

"Very well. Excuse me for the moment." He stood and bowed his head before he made his way through to the parlour where Polly's cage resided. Luckily, the stand and cage were easy to move – he had already moved it around the parlour when he realised he disliked its placement – and so he only took a few minutes. By the time he had returned the next course of fresh Scottish salmon in a lemon sauce and mashed potatoes had been set down and the guests were awaiting to begin eating. (Though Arthur did spot Alfred's fork already set on his plate as if he had begun to eat but been stopped.)

A chorus of "Oooh" sounded as Arthur carefully put the stand down. Straightening, he stopped the cage from swinging and stared at the parrot. She was awake and staring back at him so Arthur smiled encouragingly. Turning back to the table, he made the introductions.

"This is Polly."

The first Lord laughed. "Oh, does Polly want some fish?"

Everyone seemed to be waiting on an answer from the bird so Arthur gave them all an apologetic look. "I am afraid that the move has made her uneasy and she has not been speaking late-"

"Polly want a cracker," said the bird, suddenly, moving along her perch.

Arthur blinked and stared at her in surprise while the table laughed. Polly stared back. Strangely, Arthur thought that she seemed to be challenging him. Had she been waiting to speak in front of people...?

"Polly want a cracker!" Polly repeated, louder this time.

Remembering what Polly said when she didn't get some food when she asked, Arthur lunged forward and grabbed a piece of bread from a plate set beside his salmon. Quickly, he broke a piece off and thrust it into the cage – just as Polly said, "Polly want a fu-" He let out a sigh of relief as the bird stopped and began to eat the bread.

Laughter echoed in the room and Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His guests were beginning to irritate him. However, he only had to hold out for a few more hours and he would have all the contacts and connections he wanted. Then he could politely decline invitations and become a recluse so he didn't have to deal with them.

He wished he was back on his ship.

The thought hit him so suddenly that he blinked in surprise before he could quickly school his expression into something more neutral. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he sat down and began to eat. A sudden clattering and scraping of cutlery ensued as all the 'hungry' nobles began to eat. They acted as though they had been starved. But Arthur knew what starvation felt like...

Arthur was beginning to wonder why he had decided to use his riches to blend in with people he had hated once upon a time. Clearly he still hated them.

"Oi! Oi!" Polly squawked from over his shoulder. He frowned: did she want more food or was she trying to warn him as she so often had when in the air?

At the table, the Lady turned in her seat to giggle at the parrot. "Polly seems to miss you, Mister Smith."

"I _am_ a desirable companion, after all," Arthur told her, smiling at her from behind a piece of salmon.

Alfred snorted. His father frowned. Glancing over, Arthur found Alfred smirking at him. "Where did you get Polly?"

"I bought an egg from a gentleman who had been to Australia," Arthur lied, staring at Alfred. The American raised his eyebrows in disbelief and Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I taught Polly to speak but, obviously, being around sailors has not been the best of influences."

"I'll bet," Alfred muttered – at least, Arthur thought that was what he had said but he was drowned out by the Lady and photographer who both professed their approval of the mental picture of Arthur raising the bird.

"Oh! I have something to say to Polly!" announced the second Lord. Arthur turned his attention to him and nodded his consent. Putting down his napkin, the Lord stood and hurried over, stopping before the bird and grinning. "Who is a pretty boy, then?"

Polly seemed to consider that for a moment before squawking and flapping her wings. Startled, the Lord backed off, glancing to Arthur for help. Arthur ignored him, though, watching Polly. Unfortunately, despite his wishes, she spoke.

"I'm not a fucking boy, bastard!" she screeched.

The room went silent save for the bird's indignant squawking and flapping. Arthur had frozen but, as the room erupted into noise, he leapt to his feet. "I must apologise. I was unaware she knew such foul language."

"Ha!" cried Alfred, suddenly. " _Foul_!" His laughter made everyone else stop their caterwauling and stare at him. Then it rippled around the table until everyone was chuckling. The Lord sat down and Arthur frowned at them all.

"You're all twats!" Polly announced, suddenly. Arthur sighed as the silence resumed.

"I do apologise once again. I shall take her out so we can eat in peace."

"Yes," said Ambassador Jones, nodding. "That would probably be a good idea-"

Polly interrupted with the worst possible phrase. "All you capons are no match for the crew of the Falling Angel!"

Still and silent, went the room. Everyone stared at Arthur. Arthur stared back. Then, with another put-upon sigh, he said, "Bollocks."

Gasping, the Lady swooned and was caught by the second Lord which seemed to cause a bit of a distraction. During the minor scuffle about who should be touching who's wife, Arthur opened Polly's cage. The clever bird immediately swooped down to Arthur's plate and gobbled up his salmon. When the Lady woke briefly to see the parrot, she shrieked and swooned into her husband's arms; Arthur was fairly sure she was trying to be dramatic.

"The Falling Angel?" the journalist said, getting to his feet. "Does that make you the infamous Arthur Kirkland?"

For a brief second, Arthur considered trying to cover up again. Then he thought, _To hell with it_. "Excuse me, but I prefer _Captain_ Arthur Kirkland, if you don't mind." He smirked at them all. The photographer shrieked and tried to cower behind the journalist despite the fact that she was still seated in front of him.

Alfred was suddenly on his feet. "You're a pirate? Why did you bring us here? What do you want with us?"

Sighing, Arthur shook his head, loosening his cravat as he did so. "I should have just blown the RAF out of the skies," he muttered. Raising his voice, he told them, "I have no designs on any of you. Relax and stay where you are, if you please. Come along, Polly." Squawking, the parrot flapped her wings and launched herself into the air, soaring up to Arthur's shoulder and landing, clinging to him tightly. It was a comfortable weight and Arthur turned to leave as soon as she was settled, nuzzling at his face.

"Hey!" called Alfred. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To my ship. It would be best if you leave me be, lad."

Just as he reached the door, Alfred shouted to him. "There's no way I'll let you leave!" Arthur glanced over his shoulder and saw the American staring at him, his eyebrows raised as if trying to convey a message.

Unsure of what it was, Arthur shrugged his empty shoulder and grasped the handle. "If that's the case, catch me. If you _can_ , that is." And, sending the young man a final smirk, he wrenched the door open and stepped out, pulling it closed behind him.

Not wasting a moment, he hurried through the house, waiting until he had reached the upstairs hall to pull the cravat off and throw it aside. After urging Polly onto his hand, he shrugged off his dinner jacket and laid it over a decorative table in the hall. By the time he reached his bedroom, he had divested himself of his waistcoat (but kept the watch) and had stepped out of his smart shoes.

In the private space, Polly alighted on the bedside table, squawking quietly as Arthur darted around his room. Distantly, he heard shouts and, glancing out of the window, he saw that the guests had fled. They had stopped someone who had been passing to help them raise the alarm. Arthur scoffed and dropped to the floor, burrowing into the luxurious carpet one more time before wriggling under the bed. Grabbing the handle of a precious trunk, he dragged it out and quickly opened it. Setting his elaborate hat on the bed, he pulled his goggles on, letting them hang around his neck. Then he took out his long, green coat and shook it out. He had just gotten it on and straightened it out when the door burst open. On instinct, he grabbed his pistol from its holster and aimed for the intruder before he even looked.

Alfred stood there, closing the door softly behind him. "I figured you'd want to get your things," he said, his accent much thicker than it had been throughout the rest of the night.

Raising his eyebrow when he noted that Alfred seemed unconcerned about the pistol, Arthur got to his feet. Shaking out his coat once more, he said, "Oh? Are there others out there?" He nodded towards the door.

Shaking his head, the American turned to the door and flicked the lock, something Arthur had decided not to waste time on. "I let them go out to find someone to come arrest you. You don't call 'em sheriffs here, do ya?"

"No. Are you trying to claim a citizens' arrest? Be a hero?"

The American snorted. "Hell no. See, I know you're not all bad. I've heard stories of a 'fallen angel' dropping things for the poor in the coastal states."

"Hm," said Arthur, raising an eyebrow. "Are you telling me you see _me_ as some kind of hero? I assure you, even if the stories are true – not that I'll tell you whether they _are_ or not – it was merely done on a whim."

As Alfred moved towards Arthur, he shrugged. "I ain't too concerned with that right now. We'll talk about that later. Right now, I want you to take me with you."

There was a pause. "Excuse me?" asked Arthur.

"Are you fucking pulling my leg?" said Polly with a squawk.

With a bark of loud laughter, Alfred shook his head. "No. I'm not."

"And why would you want to come with us?" Arthur asked, putting a hand on his hip.

"Well," said Alfred, drawing out the word. "There are a few reasons." He held Arthur's gaze a moment and the pirate felt himself heat up at the implication. "But one of them is that I don't want to do what my pa tells me. I ain't a nobleman and I ain't a dog. Freedom is what I want."

"You might not get it," Arthur pointed out, lifting the barrel of his gun slightly in a vague gesture. "If the RAF and the other Air Forces increase their presence, we'll be caught."

"I don't care. If I stay here, there'll be no freedom and I'll end up going insane."

"Don't exaggerate."

"It's true. I've been close to hitting my pa tonight."

Slowly, Arthur lowered his pistol, keeping his eyes on Alfred. Still wary, he waited a moment to make sure Alfred wouldn't attack him. When he didn't, Arthur reached down and grabbed his belt. His sword still hung on it, as did several pouches and useful tools. He quickly wrapped it around himself and holstered his pistol. "They'll think I've kidnapped you," he pointed out as he knelt down again to look in the large chest.

"I'll leave a note."

"Hm. Well, if you're coming, you need to get over here and gather up all the jewels you find." Arthur grabbed a satchel from the depths of the chest and threw it at him. "Use that."

"Aye, aye, Cap," said Alfred, saluting. He hurried over and began his task, Arthur doing the same with another satchel beside him. "Jeez, what'd you do? Rob a king?"

"Yes, actually," Arthur admitted, smirking at Alfred.

"Wow," Alfred said, giving Arthur an impressed grin. They worked silently for a few seconds and were just putting the last few jewels into the bags when Polly flew over to settle on the edge of the chest. Alfred froze as Arthur scooped up the last few and fastened his bag, unconcerned. The parrot stared at Alfred, seemingly inspecting him.

"Who's a pretty boy, then?" she squawked. Then she calmly took off and landed on Arthur's shoulder.

Alfred chuckled. "Well. She has good taste."

"And yet she still can't say the phrase right." Arthur sighed and stroked Polly's beak. He smirked at her, waiting for Alfred to ask: Polly made a quiet noise, almost as though she was amused as well.

"What was the phrase supposed to be?"

Arthur waited until he had grabbed his hat and set it on his head at his preferred angle. He let out a sigh, feeling as though the action was a homecoming. His smirk widened as he turned to Alfred whose eyes were wide, gaze sweeping across his body: Arthur knew very well how attractive he was in his preferred outfit. The American glanced up, catching Arthur's gaze. Only when Alfred was staring into his eyes did Arthur supply the answer.

"'Look who's fuckable, pet.'"

**Author's Note:**

> Some things about this universe which will never be written: Francis, Gilbert and Antonio were all pirate captains who all fought each other and Arthur until the RAF took out their ships and Arthur had to save them in an epic battle which resulted in several downed RAF ships. However, he didn't get there quite in time to stop them branding Antonio with a P for pirate as was discussed in the story, briefly, so people kept noticing and chasing him out of town.  
> Also, Alfred isn't as innocent as he seems... Let's just say, if you went to a certain town, there'd be a misshapen and fat statue of him and a song called "The Man They Call Al". (Which they all find out when he insists they fly the ship over there. That will be a fun trip for them.)  
> And! Fran, Gil and Tonio were all lying about all the crew being back... Just half of them turn up and Arthur nearly flips his lid at them. Alfred had to, ahem, calm him down...
> 
> There are [many different birds/parrots](http://www.petmd.com/bird/top_tens/evr_bd_top10talking_birds) that can talk and I chose the [Eclectus](http://www.parrotparrot.com/species-guides/eclectus-parrots/) [parrot](http://scienceblogs.com/grrlscientist/2008/07/22/evolution-of-the-enigmatic-ecl/) because of the colour of the female and the fact that it can mimic the tone and mood of a language. In other words, Polly can be sarcastic when she wants to be, or so I took from that.
> 
> I was going to have a male parrot, hence the name of the story, but the male Eclectus parrot is a rather dull green. Which meant I couldn't name the parrot Will after William Shakespeare. However, the name of Polly for a parrot came about because of a play written by Ben Jonson - a close friend of Shakespeare's - called Volpone who assigned animal personas to the characters to reflect their true nature. A comic relief character was assigned the parrot and he was called Sir Politic Would-Be or Sir Pol for short. Pol became popular for a parrot until the diminutive form of Polly became more widely used. So I figured that was a good a name as any. [For your reading pleasure...](http://mentalfloss.com/article/55350/why-do-we-call-parrots-polly)
> 
> Bollocks was originally "ballocks", by the way, and that would be the version used in Victorian times. I used Bollocks because it didn't have a red line under it.
> 
> The last part: Arthur deliberately tried to teach Polly that so he could flirt with men without actually having to get punched in the face or arrested. Polly became stubborn and only said "Who's a pretty boy, then." because... she could. And she also became really good at intuiting who would be interested in Arthur and who Arthur, in turn, was very interested in taking to bed. Or, in other words: *nudge, nudge; wink, wink*


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